Happy Holidays, Kirathaune!
Title: Let’s Have Lunch
Recipient: kirathaune
Author: greywolfheir
Characters/Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Rating: T
Summary: One drunken night, Crowley and Aziraphale make a bet. Too bad a Timelord has to come and ruin all the fun…
Warnings: Mentions of the Reign of Terror
Author's Notes: Happy Holidays, Kirathaune! I combined two of the prompts, and I just hope I did both justice. Enjoy!
---
Paris. 1793.
"You can’ do anythin’ but evil," Aziraphale argued. They were in his bookshop. It was similar to one he would own in the future, back room and everything. He and Crowley, after one nasty day experiencing the horror that was La Guillotine, had immediately drunk away the sight.
Crowley snorted, nearly getting his drink up his nose. “Tha’s just m’ job. C’n stop bein’ evil ‘f I want.”
Aziraphale shook his head vigorously. “Couldn’.”
“Could too,” Crowley argued. “Could give up evil f’r a week!”
“Prove ‘t,” Aziraphale challenged.
“Fine, what ‘bout you? Give up bein’ good?”
Aziraphale shook his head again. “’d fall.”
Crowley shrugged and took another sip, glancing at the books around him. “Wha’ ‘bout these books?”
Aziraphale’s eyes widened comically. “Give up m’ books?”
“Couldn’ do ‘t could you?” Crowley said with a sly grin.
Aziraphale immediately hid his terrified expression with a deep frown. “Could too.”
“Prove ‘t,” Crowley said, with a glint in his eye. A sober Aziraphale would have seen that look for the ominous sign that it was. A drunken Aziraphale missed it and simply nodded.
“You give up ev’l f’r a week, I give up m’ books,” Aziraphale said. “Loser has to . . . buy lunch!”
“’s a deal,” Crowley said, holding out his hand for Aziraphale to take. Aziraphale also missed the relevance of making a deal with a demon, but a drunken Crowley also missed it. And so a demon made a bet with an angel in an oddly human way.
---
“It’s like you want them to take your head off,” Aziraphale noted when Crowley walked into his shop early the next morning wearing a bright red coat and prominently white frill. Aziraphale would be lying if he said that it didn’t look good on the demon. Still, he was an angel and not meant to notice these things. If his eyes kept glancing that way, he pretended not to realize it.
“They wouldn’t dare touch me,” Crowley said, lowering his glasses threateningly. He nodded towards Aziraphale’s teacup. “Aren’t you going to read something with that?”
Aziraphale blushed and ducked his head. “Well, I’m not sure if you remember our deal from last night but I certainly didn’t want to lose it on the first morning. Have you forgotten?”
Crowley rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately no. Do you realize how boring the walk over here was? People being disgustingly kind to each other, laughing and playing . . . it’s enough to make a demon puke.”
“Yes, well, tea just isn’t the same without some decent entertainment,” Aziraphale muttered into his cup. “Why are you here anyway?”
“Like I haven’t been here before?” Crowley teased.
“You know what I mean.”
“I was bored,” Crowley admitted. “Care to take a walk with me?”
Aziraphale looked like he wanted to say no, but a glance at the tempting books told him that would be a terrible mistake. “Of course.”
----
Their walk was fairly normal if you didn’t consider the riot outside a building of a French aristocrat, who was to be dragged toward the Guillotine. Aziraphale and Crowley winced simultaneously and sped past it. In normal circumstances, Crowley would trip one of the revolutionaries or otherwise cause mischief but he had a bet to win.
It was on their way back towards Aziraphale’s shop, however, that they heard a noise.
It was a groaning, wheezing sort of noise, and the two supernatural beings looked at each other for a second before hurrying toward the alley it had been coming from. Rounding a corner, they found a blue box with the words “Police Box” and “Public Call” on it. Aziraphale tilted his head to the side.
“Public Call . . . ” he mused. “What, did someone just stand and shout in it to alert people? Was that what we heard?”
“You don’t quite need a box to do that,” Crowley pointed out. “Besides, it doesn’t seem to have-“
Crowley stopped talking when the door to the box suddenly opened. He quickly grabbed Aziraphale’s arm and dragged the angel back behind the corner of the alley. Safely hidden, they both poked their heads around the corner just in time to see a man and a woman with red hair step out. Both were dressed oddly, the woman especially - she was wearing trousers.
“Here we are, Donna! Paris, 1973,” the man announced happily.
“My dear,” Aziraphale whispered to Crowley, “did he say 1973?”
“He was just shouting in a box, Aziraphale, I’m sure there’s something wrong with his brain.” They turned back to the strange pair.
“Are you absolutely sure about that?” the woman - Donna - asked. “Looks a bit, I dunno, old to me.”
“Well I’m sure that’s . . . ” the man stopped as he looked around. He raised a hand to scratch his neck nervously. “That’s because it is. Hang on.”
The man turned around to go back inside the box. When he got out, he announced sheepishly, “Scratch that, we’re in 1793. Middle of the French Revolution.”
“Are you telling me you mixed the numbers up? Is that even possible?” Donna demanded.
The man looked affronted. “Of course it is! I’m not always perfect.”
“Don’t I know it,” Donna muttered.
“Oi!” the man cried. “Anyway, you should probably go and change before anyone sees you dressed like that. It’s a dangerous time here.”
“Think it’s a little late for that, spaceman,” Donna said, jerking her thumb towards Aziraphale and Crowley. The two of them immediately jumped back in surprise and a failed attempt to hide again. Donna and her companion were rounding the corner just as Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s hand in preparation to run.
“How long have you been-“ the man looked down at their clasped hands and stopped.
Crowley let go of Aziraphale’s hand and took a small step in front of the angel. “Oh, sorry to interr-“
“You’re a Timelord aren’t you?” Aziraphale asked excitedly, stepping around Crowley. The man looked shocked. “Oh don’t be worried, we’re not human either.” Aziraphale pointed to Crowley. “He’s a demon, and I’m an angel.”
“Tell him our whole story why don’t you?” Crowley hissed.
“Oh, don’t mind him, he’s not as harmful as he pretends to be,” Aziraphale said, making Crowley roll his eyes.
“Oh no, would dream of thinking about that in a demon,” Donna muttered.
“I’m the Doctor, pleased to meet you,” the Timelord said, sticking out a hand.
Aziraphale took it, announcing, “Aziraphale and Crowley, at your service.”
“Now what are a demon and an angel doing together in a back alley in France?” Donna asked. At a look from the Doctor, she added. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
“Not at all, dear!” Aziraphale responded cheerily. “We were just taking a walk when we heard your . . . er, time-travel machine, and we decided to investigate. I understand this isn’t where you were meant to end up?”
“No, not quite,” the Doctor agreed. “In fact we should probably-“
“Oh come on, it can’t hurt to have a look around, can it?” Donna said, glancing at the two man-shaped beings with an indiscernible emotion. The Doctor noticed and donned an equally inscrutable expression.
“Oh alright, but we’ll have to be careful. It is the Reign of Terror,” the Doctor warned.
Donna smiled and turned back to the Police Box. “I’ll go get dressed then.”
“My bookshop’s just down there at the end of the street,” Aziraphale said, before leading Crowley off in the direction he’d just been pointing to. When they rounded the corner, Aziraphale turned to Crowley with the widest grin the demon had seen in a while.
“A Timelord, Crowley!” he squealed. “Can you believe it? I’ve only ever heard of them from the others Up There, but to see one up close . . . ” Aziraphale sighed. “I wonder where he just came from. Do you think it was another planet? Or no, maybe from the future! His companion clearly isn’t from our time nor any of the times we’ve been through. I wonder what it’s-“
“Alright, alright, I get it, there’s a great big fancy Timelord,” Crowley said. In all honesty, he was pretty amazed at the Timelord’s appearance too, and if he was going to be honest, Aziraphale’s excitement was rubbing off on him. Still, the way Aziraphale had sighed in admiration gave Crowley a funny feeling he felt he didn’t particularly like. “Did you have to tell him I’m a demon?”
“Well, that’s what you are, aren’t you?” Aziraphale asked.
Crowley didn’t know how to respond, so he looked away, allowing Aziraphale to continue on about the exciting new Timelord. Crowley wondered if influencing a Timelord to leave counted as evil.
---
When the Doctor walked in the shop and took note of a few of the books on the shelves, his eyes widened. “When you said bookshop I hadn’t thought you meant . . .”
“Meant what?” Aziraphale asked. From his position atop the counter, Crowley noticed Aziraphale’s “innocent” smile that the demon knew from experience was a fake.
“I haven’t seen books like these in ages,” the Doctor said, walking over to a bookshelf and gliding his hand along their spines.
Crowley looked to the angel, expecting a grimace or a wince at someone touching his precious books, but the angel only seemed absolutely pleased. The whole situation was making Crowley get that nasty, unpleasant feeling again. The demon glared at a dent in the wood flooring, which couldn’t take the heat of his gaze and straightened itself out again without Crowley even having to think about it. A loud noise of surprise from the Doctor brought Crowley’s gaze up again.
“Is this an original manuscript of Paradise Lost?” The Doctor exclaimed, taking the book from its shelf. “And signed, too! I don’t believe it!”
The warm smile Aziraphale was sending the Doctor was one that Crowley would never admit to liking but would make him typically feel a lot calmer. Directed at the Timelord, however, it just made Crowley feel sick. He jumped off the counter, and started out.
“Where are you going, dear?” Aziraphale asked. “I was going to offer some tea-“
“Got business to attend to,” Crowley muttered over his shoulder before closing the door with a little more force than was absolutely necessary.
The Doctor and Donna spent a lot of their time in Aziraphale’s bookshop after that, a fact that Crowley knew not from being there with them, but from seeing them inside every time he went to visit the angel. They hadn’t come up with the word stalking to describe what Crowley was doing, but even if they had, he would deny doing it. He simply tried to visit the angel and didn’t want to go in when the Timelord and his companion were there, so he would sometimes glare at them through the window to see how they were ruining his time with Aziraphale. If he had ears that were exceptionally good at overhearing conversations, then who was to blame him if he sometimes listened in on a conversation or two? Besides, the way the Doctor talked on and on about the books, Crowley had to make sure Aziraphale wasn’t reading them, or he’d have a dinner to pay for.
One of those nights, Crowley had gotten there just as the Doctor and Donna were leaving. Stepping into the shadows, he watched as they left the building. As soon as the door was shut, Donna had turned to the Doctor.
“So when should I plan for the wedding?” Donna asked. Crowley held back a growl. Stupid humans and their stupid jokes.
“Oh come on, just because we happen to share a few common interests?” The Doctor replied. Crowley’s satisfied grin was wiped off of his face at the next sentence. “Besides, haven’t you noticed the way he looks at that demon friend of his?”
“Interesting that, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Oh you know, a demon and an angel being that . . . close with each other. It’s not right is it?” Crowley winced.
“Well . . . no, not really,” the Doctor said softly. Crowley figured he’d heard enough. He stopped listening and headed back to his apartment. On his way back, if he tipped off a disguised revolutionary about the whereabouts of a particularly wealthy aristocrat, well, it wasn’t right for him to be making bets with an angel anyway.
If Crowley had stayed, however, he would have heard the rest of the conversation between the Timelord and his companion which proceeded like this:
“They do seem absolutely smitten with each other though don’t they?” Donna had responded.
“Yeah, you’re right there. Besides, I don’t think either of them particularly minds that they don’t follow the rules sometimes. The way Aziraphale talks about him, I think they’d - literally - face the devil himself before they separated.”
Donna had laughed. “True enough.”
----
It was late the next night when Aziraphale came back from a walk with the Doctor and Donna. The lights were off in his shop, so when he turned them back on, he was surprised to see his friend sitting on his sofa.
“Oh,” Aziraphale gasped. “Crowley, what on earth are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in weeks!”
“Bored. Thought you might be here,” Crowley said simply, flipping a page of a book angrily. Aziraphale winced; it was one of his favorites.
“My dear, be caref-“ Aziraphale reached to take the book, but Crowley slammed it shut and pulled it out of the angel’s hands.
“Wouldn’t want you to be tempted,” Crowley said tightly. His smile, though small, was dangerous.
“Even you couldn’t tempt me, dear,” Aziraphale responded, reaching for the book again. Crowley let him have it
.
“No, though I suppose a Timelord can certainly try,” Crowley muttered bitterly.
Aziraphale paused on his way to the bookshelf just enough to be perceptible. “What does he have to do with anything?”
“Tell me, angel, when he’s done with all he can see in France, where is he going to go next?”
“How should I know?” Aziraphale demanded, turning around. Something about Crowley’s appearance suddenly clicked. “My dear are you drunk?”
Crowley sighed and started towards the door, his slightly unbalanced walk being enough of an answer. Before he left, he called over his shoulder, “Have a great wedding.”
---
Since that incident, Crowley stayed in his apartment. It wasn’t as white as it would be in the future, and certainly didn’t have nearly enough plants. With the blood thirst for aristocrats rising, it wasn’t nearly as sleek and fancy as his future apartment either. The dullness of it nearly made Crowley itch, but he stayed there anyway.
The demon had decided a few things. First, he accepted that he was most definitely attracted to and had feelings for Aziraphale. Second, he accepted that he would never get a chance to act on these feelings. Third, there was a Timelord who may or may not be taking his angel away from him.
Crowley didn’t spy on his Heavenly counterpart anymore, accepting that the angel would have a better time with that blessed Doctor anyway. Instead, Crowley got drunk. Very drunk. There was a moment when he contemplated seeing just how much this corporation could last from alcohol poisoning before the pain in his liver got to be too much even through the alcohol haze.
When Crowley wasn’t drinking, he was sleeping. This was exactly what he was doing when he heard a knock on the door. Willing away what would normally end up being an excruciating hangover, Crowley opened his eyes. The knock came again, this time followed by a voice.
“Crowley, it’s me,” Aziraphale said.
Crowley sat up and grabbed one of the bottles that weren’t empty, downing it.
“My dear, please,” Aziraphale said. “I know you can hear me.”
The knocking was annoying, so Crowley figured maybe it couldn’t hurt to answer it. He slowly dragged himself to his feet and walked over to open the door mid-knock. The angel looked just as blessed beautiful and adorable as he had always been. Even the peasant clothing couldn’t hide his angelic features.
“I was sleeping peacefully, you blessed idiot,” Crowley growled. “Where’s your Timelord?”
“He left,” Aziraphale said, simply, attempting to slip past Crowley to get inside and failing.
“So you’re bored and can’t find anyone else to talk to. I’m your last option, is that right?”
“Of course n-“
“Because that’s how it’s been the last few weeks.”
“Crowley, he told me-“
“I don’t care what he-mff!” Crowley was interrupted when the angel’s lips collided with his.
“Now, dear, will you please let me in?” Aziraphale whispered when he had pulled away.
Crowley stepped back just enough so that Aziraphale could step in. Once he was in, Crowley shut the door and promptly surged forward to recapture the angel’s lips. He’d done so with enough force to cause the angel to back into the door.
After a kiss that was longer that humanly possible, Crowley finally pulled back. “We could get in trouble for this. Big trouble.”
Aziraphale lifted a hand to cradle Crowley’s cheek. “I don’t care,” he whispered. “We can hide it if we must.”
Crowley closed his eyes and sighed. “I don’t know what I’ll do if we get caught.”
“We won’t get caught, then,” Aziraphale said confidently, leaning forward to press his lips back to Crowley’s.
---
Later that night, when they were curled up on Crowley’s bed, he admitted to tipping off the revolutionary. “So I guess I owe you a lunch.”
Aziraphale sat up, his face bright red. ”Oh no, you really don’t need to worry about that.”
Crowley didn’t take long to figure things out. He smirked. “Anything you’d care to confess, angel?”
“Oh alright,” Aziraphale huffed. “The Doctor and I were discussing some plays and I happened upon my favorite-“
“They’re all your favorite,” Crowley pointed out, still grinning gleefully.
“And then, you had been reading it that strange day when you came in, and I just couldn’t help but peek at a few pages.”
“So I did tempt you!” Crowley said triumphantly. “And you owe me a lunch.”
Aziraphale huffed again and frowned, but was easily placated when Crowley began to cover his face in kisses.
---
It was quite a good restaurant, Crowley thought.
~end
Happy Holidays, kirathaune, from your Secret Writer!
Recipient: kirathaune
Author: greywolfheir
Characters/Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Rating: T
Summary: One drunken night, Crowley and Aziraphale make a bet. Too bad a Timelord has to come and ruin all the fun…
Warnings: Mentions of the Reign of Terror
Author's Notes: Happy Holidays, Kirathaune! I combined two of the prompts, and I just hope I did both justice. Enjoy!
---
Paris. 1793.
"You can’ do anythin’ but evil," Aziraphale argued. They were in his bookshop. It was similar to one he would own in the future, back room and everything. He and Crowley, after one nasty day experiencing the horror that was La Guillotine, had immediately drunk away the sight.
Crowley snorted, nearly getting his drink up his nose. “Tha’s just m’ job. C’n stop bein’ evil ‘f I want.”
Aziraphale shook his head vigorously. “Couldn’.”
“Could too,” Crowley argued. “Could give up evil f’r a week!”
“Prove ‘t,” Aziraphale challenged.
“Fine, what ‘bout you? Give up bein’ good?”
Aziraphale shook his head again. “’d fall.”
Crowley shrugged and took another sip, glancing at the books around him. “Wha’ ‘bout these books?”
Aziraphale’s eyes widened comically. “Give up m’ books?”
“Couldn’ do ‘t could you?” Crowley said with a sly grin.
Aziraphale immediately hid his terrified expression with a deep frown. “Could too.”
“Prove ‘t,” Crowley said, with a glint in his eye. A sober Aziraphale would have seen that look for the ominous sign that it was. A drunken Aziraphale missed it and simply nodded.
“You give up ev’l f’r a week, I give up m’ books,” Aziraphale said. “Loser has to . . . buy lunch!”
“’s a deal,” Crowley said, holding out his hand for Aziraphale to take. Aziraphale also missed the relevance of making a deal with a demon, but a drunken Crowley also missed it. And so a demon made a bet with an angel in an oddly human way.
---
“It’s like you want them to take your head off,” Aziraphale noted when Crowley walked into his shop early the next morning wearing a bright red coat and prominently white frill. Aziraphale would be lying if he said that it didn’t look good on the demon. Still, he was an angel and not meant to notice these things. If his eyes kept glancing that way, he pretended not to realize it.
“They wouldn’t dare touch me,” Crowley said, lowering his glasses threateningly. He nodded towards Aziraphale’s teacup. “Aren’t you going to read something with that?”
Aziraphale blushed and ducked his head. “Well, I’m not sure if you remember our deal from last night but I certainly didn’t want to lose it on the first morning. Have you forgotten?”
Crowley rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately no. Do you realize how boring the walk over here was? People being disgustingly kind to each other, laughing and playing . . . it’s enough to make a demon puke.”
“Yes, well, tea just isn’t the same without some decent entertainment,” Aziraphale muttered into his cup. “Why are you here anyway?”
“Like I haven’t been here before?” Crowley teased.
“You know what I mean.”
“I was bored,” Crowley admitted. “Care to take a walk with me?”
Aziraphale looked like he wanted to say no, but a glance at the tempting books told him that would be a terrible mistake. “Of course.”
----
Their walk was fairly normal if you didn’t consider the riot outside a building of a French aristocrat, who was to be dragged toward the Guillotine. Aziraphale and Crowley winced simultaneously and sped past it. In normal circumstances, Crowley would trip one of the revolutionaries or otherwise cause mischief but he had a bet to win.
It was on their way back towards Aziraphale’s shop, however, that they heard a noise.
It was a groaning, wheezing sort of noise, and the two supernatural beings looked at each other for a second before hurrying toward the alley it had been coming from. Rounding a corner, they found a blue box with the words “Police Box” and “Public Call” on it. Aziraphale tilted his head to the side.
“Public Call . . . ” he mused. “What, did someone just stand and shout in it to alert people? Was that what we heard?”
“You don’t quite need a box to do that,” Crowley pointed out. “Besides, it doesn’t seem to have-“
Crowley stopped talking when the door to the box suddenly opened. He quickly grabbed Aziraphale’s arm and dragged the angel back behind the corner of the alley. Safely hidden, they both poked their heads around the corner just in time to see a man and a woman with red hair step out. Both were dressed oddly, the woman especially - she was wearing trousers.
“Here we are, Donna! Paris, 1973,” the man announced happily.
“My dear,” Aziraphale whispered to Crowley, “did he say 1973?”
“He was just shouting in a box, Aziraphale, I’m sure there’s something wrong with his brain.” They turned back to the strange pair.
“Are you absolutely sure about that?” the woman - Donna - asked. “Looks a bit, I dunno, old to me.”
“Well I’m sure that’s . . . ” the man stopped as he looked around. He raised a hand to scratch his neck nervously. “That’s because it is. Hang on.”
The man turned around to go back inside the box. When he got out, he announced sheepishly, “Scratch that, we’re in 1793. Middle of the French Revolution.”
“Are you telling me you mixed the numbers up? Is that even possible?” Donna demanded.
The man looked affronted. “Of course it is! I’m not always perfect.”
“Don’t I know it,” Donna muttered.
“Oi!” the man cried. “Anyway, you should probably go and change before anyone sees you dressed like that. It’s a dangerous time here.”
“Think it’s a little late for that, spaceman,” Donna said, jerking her thumb towards Aziraphale and Crowley. The two of them immediately jumped back in surprise and a failed attempt to hide again. Donna and her companion were rounding the corner just as Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s hand in preparation to run.
“How long have you been-“ the man looked down at their clasped hands and stopped.
Crowley let go of Aziraphale’s hand and took a small step in front of the angel. “Oh, sorry to interr-“
“You’re a Timelord aren’t you?” Aziraphale asked excitedly, stepping around Crowley. The man looked shocked. “Oh don’t be worried, we’re not human either.” Aziraphale pointed to Crowley. “He’s a demon, and I’m an angel.”
“Tell him our whole story why don’t you?” Crowley hissed.
“Oh, don’t mind him, he’s not as harmful as he pretends to be,” Aziraphale said, making Crowley roll his eyes.
“Oh no, would dream of thinking about that in a demon,” Donna muttered.
“I’m the Doctor, pleased to meet you,” the Timelord said, sticking out a hand.
Aziraphale took it, announcing, “Aziraphale and Crowley, at your service.”
“Now what are a demon and an angel doing together in a back alley in France?” Donna asked. At a look from the Doctor, she added. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
“Not at all, dear!” Aziraphale responded cheerily. “We were just taking a walk when we heard your . . . er, time-travel machine, and we decided to investigate. I understand this isn’t where you were meant to end up?”
“No, not quite,” the Doctor agreed. “In fact we should probably-“
“Oh come on, it can’t hurt to have a look around, can it?” Donna said, glancing at the two man-shaped beings with an indiscernible emotion. The Doctor noticed and donned an equally inscrutable expression.
“Oh alright, but we’ll have to be careful. It is the Reign of Terror,” the Doctor warned.
Donna smiled and turned back to the Police Box. “I’ll go get dressed then.”
“My bookshop’s just down there at the end of the street,” Aziraphale said, before leading Crowley off in the direction he’d just been pointing to. When they rounded the corner, Aziraphale turned to Crowley with the widest grin the demon had seen in a while.
“A Timelord, Crowley!” he squealed. “Can you believe it? I’ve only ever heard of them from the others Up There, but to see one up close . . . ” Aziraphale sighed. “I wonder where he just came from. Do you think it was another planet? Or no, maybe from the future! His companion clearly isn’t from our time nor any of the times we’ve been through. I wonder what it’s-“
“Alright, alright, I get it, there’s a great big fancy Timelord,” Crowley said. In all honesty, he was pretty amazed at the Timelord’s appearance too, and if he was going to be honest, Aziraphale’s excitement was rubbing off on him. Still, the way Aziraphale had sighed in admiration gave Crowley a funny feeling he felt he didn’t particularly like. “Did you have to tell him I’m a demon?”
“Well, that’s what you are, aren’t you?” Aziraphale asked.
Crowley didn’t know how to respond, so he looked away, allowing Aziraphale to continue on about the exciting new Timelord. Crowley wondered if influencing a Timelord to leave counted as evil.
---
When the Doctor walked in the shop and took note of a few of the books on the shelves, his eyes widened. “When you said bookshop I hadn’t thought you meant . . .”
“Meant what?” Aziraphale asked. From his position atop the counter, Crowley noticed Aziraphale’s “innocent” smile that the demon knew from experience was a fake.
“I haven’t seen books like these in ages,” the Doctor said, walking over to a bookshelf and gliding his hand along their spines.
Crowley looked to the angel, expecting a grimace or a wince at someone touching his precious books, but the angel only seemed absolutely pleased. The whole situation was making Crowley get that nasty, unpleasant feeling again. The demon glared at a dent in the wood flooring, which couldn’t take the heat of his gaze and straightened itself out again without Crowley even having to think about it. A loud noise of surprise from the Doctor brought Crowley’s gaze up again.
“Is this an original manuscript of Paradise Lost?” The Doctor exclaimed, taking the book from its shelf. “And signed, too! I don’t believe it!”
The warm smile Aziraphale was sending the Doctor was one that Crowley would never admit to liking but would make him typically feel a lot calmer. Directed at the Timelord, however, it just made Crowley feel sick. He jumped off the counter, and started out.
“Where are you going, dear?” Aziraphale asked. “I was going to offer some tea-“
“Got business to attend to,” Crowley muttered over his shoulder before closing the door with a little more force than was absolutely necessary.
The Doctor and Donna spent a lot of their time in Aziraphale’s bookshop after that, a fact that Crowley knew not from being there with them, but from seeing them inside every time he went to visit the angel. They hadn’t come up with the word stalking to describe what Crowley was doing, but even if they had, he would deny doing it. He simply tried to visit the angel and didn’t want to go in when the Timelord and his companion were there, so he would sometimes glare at them through the window to see how they were ruining his time with Aziraphale. If he had ears that were exceptionally good at overhearing conversations, then who was to blame him if he sometimes listened in on a conversation or two? Besides, the way the Doctor talked on and on about the books, Crowley had to make sure Aziraphale wasn’t reading them, or he’d have a dinner to pay for.
One of those nights, Crowley had gotten there just as the Doctor and Donna were leaving. Stepping into the shadows, he watched as they left the building. As soon as the door was shut, Donna had turned to the Doctor.
“So when should I plan for the wedding?” Donna asked. Crowley held back a growl. Stupid humans and their stupid jokes.
“Oh come on, just because we happen to share a few common interests?” The Doctor replied. Crowley’s satisfied grin was wiped off of his face at the next sentence. “Besides, haven’t you noticed the way he looks at that demon friend of his?”
“Interesting that, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Oh you know, a demon and an angel being that . . . close with each other. It’s not right is it?” Crowley winced.
“Well . . . no, not really,” the Doctor said softly. Crowley figured he’d heard enough. He stopped listening and headed back to his apartment. On his way back, if he tipped off a disguised revolutionary about the whereabouts of a particularly wealthy aristocrat, well, it wasn’t right for him to be making bets with an angel anyway.
If Crowley had stayed, however, he would have heard the rest of the conversation between the Timelord and his companion which proceeded like this:
“They do seem absolutely smitten with each other though don’t they?” Donna had responded.
“Yeah, you’re right there. Besides, I don’t think either of them particularly minds that they don’t follow the rules sometimes. The way Aziraphale talks about him, I think they’d - literally - face the devil himself before they separated.”
Donna had laughed. “True enough.”
----
It was late the next night when Aziraphale came back from a walk with the Doctor and Donna. The lights were off in his shop, so when he turned them back on, he was surprised to see his friend sitting on his sofa.
“Oh,” Aziraphale gasped. “Crowley, what on earth are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in weeks!”
“Bored. Thought you might be here,” Crowley said simply, flipping a page of a book angrily. Aziraphale winced; it was one of his favorites.
“My dear, be caref-“ Aziraphale reached to take the book, but Crowley slammed it shut and pulled it out of the angel’s hands.
“Wouldn’t want you to be tempted,” Crowley said tightly. His smile, though small, was dangerous.
“Even you couldn’t tempt me, dear,” Aziraphale responded, reaching for the book again. Crowley let him have it
.
“No, though I suppose a Timelord can certainly try,” Crowley muttered bitterly.
Aziraphale paused on his way to the bookshelf just enough to be perceptible. “What does he have to do with anything?”
“Tell me, angel, when he’s done with all he can see in France, where is he going to go next?”
“How should I know?” Aziraphale demanded, turning around. Something about Crowley’s appearance suddenly clicked. “My dear are you drunk?”
Crowley sighed and started towards the door, his slightly unbalanced walk being enough of an answer. Before he left, he called over his shoulder, “Have a great wedding.”
---
Since that incident, Crowley stayed in his apartment. It wasn’t as white as it would be in the future, and certainly didn’t have nearly enough plants. With the blood thirst for aristocrats rising, it wasn’t nearly as sleek and fancy as his future apartment either. The dullness of it nearly made Crowley itch, but he stayed there anyway.
The demon had decided a few things. First, he accepted that he was most definitely attracted to and had feelings for Aziraphale. Second, he accepted that he would never get a chance to act on these feelings. Third, there was a Timelord who may or may not be taking his angel away from him.
Crowley didn’t spy on his Heavenly counterpart anymore, accepting that the angel would have a better time with that blessed Doctor anyway. Instead, Crowley got drunk. Very drunk. There was a moment when he contemplated seeing just how much this corporation could last from alcohol poisoning before the pain in his liver got to be too much even through the alcohol haze.
When Crowley wasn’t drinking, he was sleeping. This was exactly what he was doing when he heard a knock on the door. Willing away what would normally end up being an excruciating hangover, Crowley opened his eyes. The knock came again, this time followed by a voice.
“Crowley, it’s me,” Aziraphale said.
Crowley sat up and grabbed one of the bottles that weren’t empty, downing it.
“My dear, please,” Aziraphale said. “I know you can hear me.”
The knocking was annoying, so Crowley figured maybe it couldn’t hurt to answer it. He slowly dragged himself to his feet and walked over to open the door mid-knock. The angel looked just as blessed beautiful and adorable as he had always been. Even the peasant clothing couldn’t hide his angelic features.
“I was sleeping peacefully, you blessed idiot,” Crowley growled. “Where’s your Timelord?”
“He left,” Aziraphale said, simply, attempting to slip past Crowley to get inside and failing.
“So you’re bored and can’t find anyone else to talk to. I’m your last option, is that right?”
“Of course n-“
“Because that’s how it’s been the last few weeks.”
“Crowley, he told me-“
“I don’t care what he-mff!” Crowley was interrupted when the angel’s lips collided with his.
“Now, dear, will you please let me in?” Aziraphale whispered when he had pulled away.
Crowley stepped back just enough so that Aziraphale could step in. Once he was in, Crowley shut the door and promptly surged forward to recapture the angel’s lips. He’d done so with enough force to cause the angel to back into the door.
After a kiss that was longer that humanly possible, Crowley finally pulled back. “We could get in trouble for this. Big trouble.”
Aziraphale lifted a hand to cradle Crowley’s cheek. “I don’t care,” he whispered. “We can hide it if we must.”
Crowley closed his eyes and sighed. “I don’t know what I’ll do if we get caught.”
“We won’t get caught, then,” Aziraphale said confidently, leaning forward to press his lips back to Crowley’s.
---
Later that night, when they were curled up on Crowley’s bed, he admitted to tipping off the revolutionary. “So I guess I owe you a lunch.”
Aziraphale sat up, his face bright red. ”Oh no, you really don’t need to worry about that.”
Crowley didn’t take long to figure things out. He smirked. “Anything you’d care to confess, angel?”
“Oh alright,” Aziraphale huffed. “The Doctor and I were discussing some plays and I happened upon my favorite-“
“They’re all your favorite,” Crowley pointed out, still grinning gleefully.
“And then, you had been reading it that strange day when you came in, and I just couldn’t help but peek at a few pages.”
“So I did tempt you!” Crowley said triumphantly. “And you owe me a lunch.”
Aziraphale huffed again and frowned, but was easily placated when Crowley began to cover his face in kisses.
---
It was quite a good restaurant, Crowley thought.
~end
Happy Holidays, kirathaune, from your Secret Writer!